


I'm Going to Lose My Mind

by lostandlonelybirds (RUNNFROMTHEAK)



Series: Dick Rare Pair Challenge 2020 [7]
Category: Batman (Comics), Nightwing (Comics), Superboy (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Betrayal, Cheating, Dark Dick Grayson, Dick is very fucked up in this, Hurt Dick Grayson, Hurt No Comfort, Infidelity, M/M, Murder, No Beta We Die Like Kon, Unhappy Ending, but in my defense I've been watching Hannibal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-29
Updated: 2020-09-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:21:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26706679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RUNNFROMTHEAK/pseuds/lostandlonelybirds
Summary: He thinks he hates Tim.He thinks he hates Kon too.Hates them both for making him feel like this. Making him into this.
Relationships: Dick Grayson/Kon-El | Conner Kent, Tim Drake/Kon-El | Conner Kent, pre-Dick Grayson/Thomas Wayne Jr.
Series: Dick Rare Pair Challenge 2020 [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1834162
Comments: 8
Kudos: 54
Collections: Dick Grayson Rare Pair Challenge





	I'm Going to Lose My Mind

**Author's Note:**

> oops

It’s fine.

That’s what Dick keeps telling himself, chasing the image of Tim’s long, pale limbs intertwined with Kon’s sun kissed ones down with a bottle of whiskey. He doesn’t bother breaking out the glasses, the single set of Superboy and Nightwing glasses they’d been gifted for their one-year anniversary by Clark _or_ the red and blue complimentary set they’d picked out together when they _bought_ this apartment. It’s in both their names, Dick realizes at once, only _half_ his and half—

He doesn’t want to think about who the other half belongs to right now.

It had been an accident, really, that’s the bullshit Kon had tried to spew at him. An accident his lips found Tim’s. An accident it was on a night Dick had been booked for a space mission with Donna. An accident hands wandered, clothes scattered. An accident as he spread Tim’s thighs apart and coaxed him to orgasm with his tongue and fingers. Kon must be pretty accident prone, because then he’d _accidentally_ fucked Tim hard enough for it to bruise, possessive purples and blues painting a picture Dick doesn’t want to understand around Tim’s slim waist. He’d _accidentally_ forgotten to answer Dick’s call, forgotten to lock the door, or clean the sheets and air of his sins.

Well, Dick can have accidents too.

It had been an accident stumbling upon them, searching for a forgotten tool, something mundane he hadn’t really needed but had wanted. An accident when he’d told Tim to leave, voice colder than he’s ever heard from his lips. An accident when he’d slammed Kon into the wall, Kryptonite imbedded in a bracelet he’d never thought he’d have to use (gift from Bruce) cutting into Kon’s rapidly paling skin. Dick supposes he’s accident prone too, because that Kryptonite cuts into flesh until Kon bleeds as a human, bleeds a crimson flood leaking into his hands, painting him in sin just like the mutual release and sweat still incriminating and painful on Kon’s skin.

Kon lives, because Dick isn’t ready. Because he needs to suffer. Because Dick isn’t decided yet.

So he watches. He waits. He sits and monitors Tim’s shame and guilt, witnesses Kon’s brief regret before he goes to Tim again.

“ _I love you_ ,” he says to Tim, emotions so fake Dick’s not sure how he hadn’t seen it before. Tim embraces him with minimal protest, puffy-eyed and only whispering Dick’s name to stop it once. The second kiss isn’t stopped, and Dick looks away as it turns into the third and fourth and fifth.

He still deliberates, still feels that numb-cold rage, feels that hatred curling into something ugly and dark and unfamiliar in his heart. What _remains_ of his heart, that is. Tendrils of darkness call to him, enrapturing and soothing, vengeful and empathetic. On his shoulders, around his heart, in his mind…

He feels it like a lover’s embrace, like a parental caress. And he’s tempted. He’s hurt. He’s angry. Kon’s sins paint a picture in three parts, and the ugly, harsh, _cutting_ parts have painted themselves into Dick, all the things he’s never wanted to want. He wants to kill, a colder form of the white-hot rage he’d felt with Joker. It’s a slow simmering one, not a raging boil.

Dick watches his little brother adjust to Kon’s presence, watches Kon’s eyes light up that way they used to for him, watches his name pass from Tim’s lips into the guilty air at a decreasing frequency, slowly losing any sense of shame. His anger builds. Slow growing, perfect in its imperfection.

He wants to break them, wants to rip and tear at the pretty portrait they make, so much prettier than his own. He wants to destroy, to raze this entire city to the ground, and its unsettling. Unlike him.

Dick doesn’t know himself anymore.

He wonders if he ever had.

Caught between the past and the future, bounding between righteous indignity and sinful rage, cut on the knife’s edge of what he wants and what he’s supposed to want. He wonders if they know. Wonders if Clark knows, as he congratulates the happy couple on “finally” getting together (had he been a passing block? Had he been Tim’s replacement, and not the other way around?). He wonders if the Titans know, all sunny smiles and hugs for the tainted trio. Dick haunts their happy footsteps doggedly, an unwanted ghost he won’t let them forget.

He thinks he hates Tim.

He thinks he hates Kon too.

Hates them both for making him feel like this. Making him _into_ this.

He drinks to forget, but that doesn’t quite work. He fucks to forget, and that turns out even worse. He can’t forget. He won’t forget. _No one_ will forget, not until he’s had his reckoning.

Dick’s changing, parts and pieces shifting to give way to the new. He will be new, somehow. Reborn. He doesn’t know what he’s waiting for until Thomas Wayne Jr. returns, until his mentor’s twisted reflection from another world weaves a tail of crimson flow, satisfaction, and revenge so beautifully deserved. So _earned_.

Owlman offers him the suit, but he’s the one who takes the name.

_Renegade_.

Because he’s a traitor of sorts, a different kind of traitor than Kon or Tim, but still a traitor. He’s betraying his morals. He’s betraying his past. He might even be betraying Bruce, but it’s been a long time since he’s cared for Bruce’s opinion. It’s a tasteful betrayal, and he dresses for the occasion.

When Kon and Tim return to their shared apartment, Tim’s old apartment, he’s polishing a kryptonite blade he’d taken from Bruce’s vault, face bare and blank before them. Tim’s eyes are wide as they meet his, regretful, but Kon’s eyes are cold. Knowing.

He’s seen Dick’s darkness, maybe he’d been scared off by it, and now he’s going to see what Dick’s capable of. They _all_ will.

“Dick?” Tim asks hesitantly. “What are you…?”

One bullet, right where Joker had shot Barbara Gordon. Satisfactory, not as much as death would be, but he needs to see Tim suffer. He needs to _know_ he’ll feel some inkling of what Dick felt. He wants pain. Theirs. His. It’s all the same, tangled, and conjoined, twisted beyond the point of being separable. He feels them, and he’ll make _them_ feel him.

Kon comes next, sweating and pale beneath his blade. Weak. It’s almost disappointing, seeing someone so strong and bright reduced to this. Pathetic, he thinks. Kon’s pathetic.

To his credit, he doesn’t beg. He doesn’t plea. The only noise in the quiet of the apartment is the gurgle of blood staining Tim’s shirt, gasps and pants desperate and betrayed. Betrayal, it seems, is a three speared weapon. Kon’s blood is human as it once again stains Dick’s hands, a rebirth of a different kind.

“Excellent work, Richard,” Thomas purrs in his ear, stepping over Tim’s unconscious body to view Dick’s work. “You’re beautiful.”

Dick breathes out a shaky sigh, dropping the blade next to Kon, starring at the red staining his hands numbly.

“Come,” Thomas orders.

Dick complies.


End file.
